


The Case of the Vatican Cameo

by voiceoftreason



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:33:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceoftreason/pseuds/voiceoftreason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the prompt "Vatican Cameos" from the tumblr Johnlock Challenge's Grab Bag Challenge!</p><p>Sherlock and John are in Italy solving the case of the missing Vatican Cameos. As usual, Sherlock's behavior leaves a little to be desired in the centre of Vatican City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Vatican Cameo

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Johnlock Challenge's Grab Bag Challenge! My prompt was from "aminal-221b" on tumblr with the text "Vatican Cameos!". 
> 
> I had a load of ideas for this, including ones relating to it's use in A Scandal in Belgravia. However, I decided to stray as far as possible from what was expected and this was the end result!
> 
> I apologise if anyone finds this offensive, with the venue choice & all. I hope no one does.
> 
> I can be found at "thereichenbachfallen" on tumblr, and don't forget to check out the wonderful prompt giver too! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The case of the Vatican Cameo was an anomaly in Sherlock Holmes’s cases. He was rarely known to leave the premises of 221B, unless to travel to a crime scene or attempt to buy milk. However having been notified through Mycroft that his assistance was needed elsewhere, he and John found themselves in the heart of Vatican City investigating on behalf of one of the world’s most prestigious figures. It could safely be said that the pope and the body of the Catholic Church was one of the most influential clients to date. Much to John’s dismay though, this did not lead him to tone down his general smartarse demeanour. 

He had been subjected to association with him on the occasion of three unacceptable comments so far on their trip and was mortified enough for the both of them as they stood on the balcony of the Sistine Chapel.

“Do you really not understand sentiment, Sherlock, because you understand the principle of almost every other working of the human mind? I refuse to believe that you are entirely ignorant.”

A scathing look was sent in John’s direction, followed shortly by a look of disbelief. “I understand the principle, yes, you are correct. I just do not understand the workings of it. How am I supposed to know what people are likely to become touchy about?”

“Really Sherlock, REALLY? Surely even you can see that a person’s RELIGION would be a touchy subject to criticise?”

“But the principles of their faith are wrong.” 

John despaired of his friend at moments like this. Moments when nothing but fact mattered, where all conforms of social interaction were disregarded. This probably worked out at roughly 87% of the time he spent living with Sherlock. 

“You could have held back. Just this once Sherlock. For me, even? I am sick of your cleverness ruining every situation for me. We are in Italy! Italy! And you have just embarrassed me in front of the majority of the Catholic Church. You can stay here and make all your… deductions… I am going back to the hotel” John strained to get his words out. He was seething. It was not often that he unleashed the frustration that Sherlock’s wit caused him, but when he did, he was seething: Especially when he had been embarrassed in front of the leaders of one of the largest religious groups. 

John turned and started to walk away, footsteps heavy on the decorative floor. He managed to climb down the stairs to the main floor of the Chapel before Sherlock stirred. “John! John wait. I know I’ve disappointed you”

“Amazing deduction there Sherlock! Disappointed isn’t even close. Just… Leave it okay.”

John carried on walking, heading for the heavy wooden doors of the Chapel. Sherlock ran, coat billowing behind him as he descended the stairs in pursuit. His swift pace meant he caught the door just as John reached for the handle. “John.” He almost growled in his blogger friend’s ear. 

“What, Sherlock?” John managed to force out through gritted teeth, clenching and relaxing his fists by his sides. He turned around to face his friend, looking up at his face anticipating an answer. Instead of a reply however he turned to find Sherlock’s lips coming to a different use: kissing his own. Kissing with passion and vigour and several sensations John had never experienced before. The warmth of Sherlock’s lips managed to worm its way past his own, travelling throughout his body within a few seconds. Sherlock was kissing him. In the centre of the Vatican. He was kissing back. He was aroused. 

John pulled back, pushing Sherlock back in the process. Trying to get enough distance between the two to shoot him a questioning look that could only be interpreted as “What the fuck was that?” 

Sherlock gave him the look. The look that hated. The look that he had scolded him for so many times in the past. Sherlock’s features were steady in front of him, bearing his well-known “We both know what’s going on here” look. For once John did. It didn’t mean however that he understood it. 

“What was that?” Sherlock continued to stare back at him steadily. Eyeing up John’s lips hungrily. The sight before John was a mirror of the emotions he was trying to suppress himself in that moment: Want, need, desire, arousal. He cautiously took a step closer and peeked upwards inquisitively, in search for an explanation or a solution. He let his eyes graze Sherlock’s lips, staring in amazement at the beautiful formation of his cupid’s bow, only for a second. Apparently, that was enough time for his detective (…friend?) to close the gap between them once again with a brisk stride and press his lips to his own again. 

This time he did not pull back, he did not object. He simply let the warmth of their contact caress his every nerve, eventually finding its way down to his pants. There was no doubt what was occurring now; no denial of the want radiating between the two. He felt his hands raising to tangle in Sherlock’s curls, marvelling at the beauty of the artistic disarray.  
Sherlock’s lips made their way down to his neck, kissing with the same passion; sucking, biting, soothing with his tongue. The marks he made, a clear claim to his blogger.  
John struggled to contain the moans threatening to escape his mouth, biting his lower lip in his attempts , spurring Sherlock on further. His hands slid down, caressing his neck, pushing at Sherlock’s coat trying to rid him of it - why he was wearing it was beyond John. They were in the middle of Italy, and as if that wasn’t enough the heat the two were creating was enough to make even John’s minimal clothing seem constricting and much too hot. 

The layers of black fabric fell to the floor of the Chapel with an echoing thump as Sherlock aided John’s efforts with a simple shrug of his shoulders. Deciding that the tension between the pair was unbearable, he began to walk purposefully toward the pews, pushing john back firmly with him as he did so. The pair stumbled through the room’s archway and towards the nearest pew, a mess of wandering hands and thoughts. John continued work stripping off Sherlock’s multiple layers of clothing, starting next on his shirt. Ironically the shirt in question was one of John’s favourites, purple and perfectly complimenting of every angle on the detective’s body. Each button was undone with fumbling hands, trying to remain steady as Sherlock worked his magic with his lips; which by now, had worked their way across to John’s collar bones, applying magical pressure, enough to arouse John further. He had given up trying to keep back his moans, settling instead for muffling them against Sherlock’s hair as he struggled to remain composed enough to work at the job at hand: removing his clothes. 

Sherlock carefully guided the two of them down onto one of the pews along the wall of the Chapel, ensuring to maintain the attention his lips were paying John’s body. His shirt and coat were long gone, strewn across the decorative floor. His lips once again met John’s and he smirked into the kiss noticing how John was trying so hard to keep himself from coming undone beneath him. His hands moved from supporting John’s lower back, to pulling at the bottom of his shirt, attempting to get the off-white coloured material off his body. Despite his usual composure, Sherlock found himself eliciting a loud moan of appreciation when he leant back down and the pair’s chests met. The friction of skin on skin, enough to spark a previously unattainable level of desire in both men.


End file.
